


Mama's Boy

by LazyBaker



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Gentle Dom Steve Harrington, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mommy Kink, post-season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 14:25:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20472518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/pseuds/LazyBaker
Summary: There’s only one reason Billy would show up on Steve Harrington’s doorstep.





	Mama's Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trashcangimmick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/gifts).

The story starts with Billy not sleeping for three days straight and finally cracking after weeks of somehow holding it—barely—together.

There’s only one reason Billy would show up on Steve Harrington’s doorstep.

Billy knocks and doesn’t stop knocking until Steve yanks the door open, frazzled and annoyed and haughty, hair in every direction. Billy knows he just finished his shift at Family Video because Billy’s been counting down the hours, watching the clock, desperate.

He shoulders passed Steve without a word, pushes his way inside, not about to wait for an invitation, specially if he’s damn sure he’s not about to get one and forces himself to own the space. Count his footsteps. They’re his. Months later and they’re still his.

Steve’s got a shitty little two-bed place above Melvald’s. Shares it with the Scoops Dyke.

Billy looks around the place just to do something, not really seeing any of it. Everything’s the same as it was the last time he was here. The grungy little yellowed kitchen with dirty dishes in the sink. The living room with the massive plaid couch and tiny television. Carpet’s green. Walls are white. The poster of Molly Ringwald is _still_ there.

Billy doesn’t give a shit about any of it. Can’t keep his focus on any one thing, keyed up as he is.

The door shuts with a _thud_ and Steve’s long sigh and Billy knows he’s about to start bitching. He’s not in the mood for the attitude, the sarcasm, water on a duck’s back, Billy will take whatever Steve’s gonna throw at him. Usually likes it. Can get off on Steve berating him easy.

Not right now, though.

“You got balls. Like, big fuckin’ balls coming here.” Steve says behind him. “Weeks, Billy. You ignore me for _weeks_ and you just come over without calling, like—like—“

“Yeah, yeah. I’m a piece of shit. I should go fuck myself. You’re a martyr. God bless. Amen.” Billy shoves himself at Steve, squares up to look him in the eye. It’s the hardest thing he’s done in _weeks_. “You done?”

Steve gapes at him, pretty flush reaching the pulsing, angry vein in his forehead and all the way into the collar of his ratty plain blue t-shirt. His mouth snaps closed, shifts to a waspy unhappy frown, fists clenched at his sides.

_Damn pretty._ Prettiest boy Billy’s ever seen. He’d be thrilled if Steve threw a punch to the face, the least he deserves.

“Aren’t you embarrassed? Like? At all?” Steve says between grinding teeth.

Billy’s got plenty of shame. Most days, that’s all he’s made up of. Shame and hurt and an ache so deep in his chest he thinks he’s gonna get sucked into it and disappear one day.

So he pushes. Himself. Doctor Owens. _Steve_.

Two fingers to Steve’s collarbone and his back’s knocking against the apartment door.

Billy leans in, all of him, his body on Steve’s, his mouth to Steve’s ear. Breathes in Steve’s sweat, can nearly hear Steve’s heartbeat pounding away in the artery in his neck. Steve shivers. Quakes. Squirms on his bare feet next to Billy’s boots.

Billy’s desperate.

“Don’t act like you’re better than me.” Billy says, hushed and low and reeking of the filth that’s been inside of him since day one, before the monster ever got its hold on him, before Hawkins was even on the map. “You get off on it too and I don’t hear you bitching about that.”

Billy bites Steve’s ear, gets him to jump and make a noise that shoots straight to Billy’s dick.

Steve shoves him away. Grabs Billy by the front of his shirt to yank him back in.

The way he looks at Billy—they’re not friends. They weren’t before all this. They aren’t after. Billy likes it better this way, it’s more honest. With Steve, all they do is pretend and fuck and it’s the most honest relationship Billy’s ever had with anyone.

“I’m gonna shower.” Steve tells him. Picking his words carefully. “Wait on the couch. If you leave, I’m never talking to you again.”

Steve pushes off from Billy, leaves him fucking panting for it, takes his time in the bathroom while Billy watches TV, sitting on the edge of the couch, biting at his nails, stuck in his own head. Stuck in Hawkins. He’s got a tracker on his ankle. This is the only town Billy’s allowed to exist in according to the U.S. government.

He spent the entire day stuck in a lab, getting asked the same thousand and one questions he _has_ to always answer, getting pricked with needles, having his medication adjusted _due to his temperament_ like he’s not allowed to be pissed off, and carted around in the back of a grey Ford with men in suits that don’t want to talk to him, nothing but his thoughts to keep him from diving out of the car.

The only thing in his head that’s not tainted with shit and death and the realization he’s gonna spend the rest of his life in Indiana is _Steve_ and Steve t-boned the one good thing he had going for him before all this and _still_ he’s coming out on top of the shit-pile that is Billy’s head.

Steve’s in a white button-down shirt and nothing else, the hem hits him mid thigh. Gorgeous and fuckable and Billy’s drooling.

Steve doesn’t even look at Billy when he goes into his room, just leaves the door open and Billy’s on his feet, across the room, at the door, _desperate_ and needy and on the edge of a cliff he’s already fallen off of and everything he doesn’t want to be in front of anyone else ever again, except with Steve—

The story starts with two guys who happen to get trashed on the same night colliding in the back seat of Steve’s beemer. Should’ve ended then too. Call a guy _mom_ when you’re deep in his ass and Steve’s supposed to go soft, call Billy a _freak_, shove him away, tell the whole school, the town about it. That’s what normal people are supposed to do.

Neither one of them are normal.

Steve’s too _good_ to be normal.

Billy’s not even _people_ anymore.

The lights are off in Steve’s room, a tiny little closet that can barely fit the full-size mattress. It’s the only four walls Billy can stand to be inside anymore without having a break down.

Steve’s sitting in the middle of the bed, back propped up on his pillows. Hair wet and loose, falling in sweet sweeps across his cheeks, dripping onto his shirt, turning it transparent. Legs crossed and his shirt tugged down modestly.

Billy stands in the doorway melting, feels his body shift, the panic and anger and _ache_ that’s been a dull thrum _ever since_ evens out, let’s him breathe deeper already.

Steve pats his lap. Slips into the role so easily and blushes like it’s the first time.

“Come here, baby.” Voice soft and sweet and genuine.

Billy nods. Swallows thick and loud in the room. Shuts the door. Locks it behind him. The television and the traffic outside are the only sounds in the entire apartment. He’s got a knee on the bed when Steve _tsks_ at him, stops him dead, heart thudding, his head whips up to look at him.

“No shoes, Billy. You know that. Off.”

Billy takes his shoes off, lines them up by the end of the bed nice and neat. Then his socks. Dizzy. His rotten world is compressing to just this room and it’s a relief.

He looks to Steve.

“Pants too.” Steve says, stern and Billy does what he’s told, hard and leaking, dick tenting his briefs, already getting them wet.

Steve doesn’t tell him to take his shirt off. Billy does that on his own and shakes with the decision, climbs into bed quick, a kid wanting to get under the covers before the monster under the bed grabs him.

Steve catches him. “Good boy.”

Billy lays his head on Steve’s lap, curls around him so Steve’s cradling him in his arms and Steve holds him, really holds him, close and tight to his body. Looks down at him with kind eyes Billy hides away from, burying his face in the cotton of Steve’s shirt. Breathing him in. He’s warm and soft all over and Billy can finally close his eyes and not worry about if he’ll be able to open them back up again or what he might see in the darkness.

Steve’s got him. That’s all that matters.

Steve cups his face, brushes his hair back, twirls curls around his finger. He hums the theme song from Laverne & Shirley. Spins Billy’s pendant. He pets at Billy. His face. His arms. The scars on his sides. His touch is so light, it tingles. Feels sharp and good.

He traces the freckles on Billy’s face, the one’s Billy always thought made him look too girly. Steve says he remembers a couple constellations from the boy scouts, tells Billy he has the Big Dipper between his eyes and connects the freckles over and over again to prove it.

Thoughts slide out of Billy’s head. There’s just Steve and the heat of his body. It’s more than enough. Everything outside of this room can go fuck itself.

“Bad day?” Steve breaks the quiet.

Billy nods. Nuzzles closer. Draws his arms up, tucked in tight to his chest.

“Tell me.”

Billy shakes his head. Steve tucks curls behind Billy’s ear, runs his finger up and down the rim of his ear then pinches his lobe lightly. Billy shivers.

“The doc.” Billy’s voice sounds so far away, like it’s not him talking. Someone else. Some lost kid looking for a home. “The doc says I don’t have to come in next week. That I don’t need to.”

“That sounds like good news to me.” Steve rubs the back of Billy’s neck, right at the base of his skull. _Good boy_, Billy hears him say in his head. “Baby, tell your mama what’s really wrong.”

Billy squeezes his eyes shut, flushing.

“What if this is it? What if this is as good as I’m gonna get?” His voice cracks. This is why the lights are off—to trick him into thinking Steve won’t see the tears well up and spill over. _Pussy. Fairy. Nothin’ but a useless faggot, my boy._

Steve wipes Neil’s voice away, shoves him right out of Billy’s head with a swipe of his thumb, wiping the tears from Billy’s cheeks.

“Baby boy.” Steve croons. “You’re so much better, Billy. So much fu—_so much better_.” And Steve means it, somehow. “And you’re gonna get even better every day. No doubt about it.”

“But what if I don’t?”

“You will.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course. Your mama would never lie to you. Never.” Steve leans down, kisses Billy on his forehead. “I just—I know these things. You’re gonna get better and better and _better._”

Billy wants to believe him. Steve’s the big hero. He fought the Russians and stopped Billy and saved the kids and Billy is dying, desperate and scratching at the walls to believe him.

Steve unbuttons his shirt. Opens it, slides it off one shoulder to expose his chest, his pink nipple. He must have shaved in the bathroom. His skin is smooth and pale, dotted with moles and freckles with a couple of tiny cuts that have already sealed up. Billy runs his fingers over the dried blood.

Steve scoots down on the bed, gets comfortable, shifts Billy in his arms and, _christ_, does Billy want it. Wants it so bad.

Billy wraps his arm around Steve’s back, presses himself as close as he can and latches on to Steve’s nipple and sucks. Steve gasps, starts to squirm. Billy can feel how hard he’s getting underneath him.

“Good boy. Such a—a good boy for your mama, baby.” Steve cups Billy through his briefs, holds him in his palm, fingers pressed to his taint. He doesn’t move his hand. Just holds him firm and safe and on the edge of friction.

Billy’s eyes slide shut, focusing on sucking at Steve’s tit, gets lulled into the space where his mind is quiet and nothing hurts. Not his body. Not his head. Not his heart that’s been sore and aching since he woke up months ago.

Everything disappears when he’s here. It’s different with Steve. He’s not his mom. He’s better than his mom ever could be.

Steve’s here. He stays.

Billy licks at Steve’s nipple, scrapes his teeth over it to hear him make those soft, pretty sounds in the back of his throat, rolls the hard peak of it over and over with his tongue. Flicks it. Nips at it. Sucks on it _hard_.

Steve fists at his hair, his grip on Billy’s dick tightens and Billy pushes his hips into Steve’s hand, wanting more. Harder. Anything.

“Mama.” Billy says, strained. Feels Steve’s dick give a kick, a big twitch.

Steve gets the hint and pulls the front of Billy’s briefs down, starts jacking Billy off slow. Rubs his thumb just under the head in tight little circles. Gets Billy rutting into his hand real quick, gets him panting, lets the pleasure roll over him for a minute. Steve would jerk him off as many times as Billy could take if he’d let him.

“Mama,” Billy says, “I wanna fuck you.”

Outside in the middle of summer or in the dark of his bedroom, Steve’s eyes are bright. “Gotta ask nicely, baby.”

“Can I fuck you?” Billy’s chest goes tight. _Mind your manners, boy._ “Mama? Please?”

Steve nods, bites his bottom lip fat when he groans.

Billy gets the lube. Skips over the condom. Steve’s got an ass that’s better, tighter, _warmer_ than any cunt and Billy wants to be in that heat, surround himself in it, let it seep into his skin and stoke whatever fire’s left inside of him.

The lube’s nearly empty. Last month it had just been broken open, brand new. Steve had asked him to stay for dinner afterwards. Billy had fled before Steve could see how much he wanted to stay.

Billy lies to himself and says Steve’s just not using the lotion that’s right next to it in the drawer.

Billy’s gentle, opens Steve up slow, likes how Steve clutches at him while he does it, digs his nails into Billy’s arms and calls him _baby boy_ when Billy nails his good spot, like he needs Billy just as bad too.

The first push inside is always the killer. Narrows everything down to a single sensation, a single glowing, unreal spot, the tight hot heat where they’re connected is too good, too much.

“Mama.” Billy sighs, all the way inside of him, happy and dopey with his face pressed to Steve’s neck, kissing and licking.

Steve wraps around Billy, his long bambi legs around Billy’s waist, his arms around Billy’s neck, his shoulders, the back of Billy’s head pulling him in, closer and closer.

“Fuck.” Steve swears. “Billy baby.” Steve throws his head back, hips bucking up. Sweat makes them stick to each other.

Billy shoves himself all the way into Steve to see him jerk, squirm on his dick. Stops moving so Steve will open his wet eyes and smile at him. Touch Billy’s lips and say, “such a good boy for mama.”

A spark of pride goes off in Billy. Making Steve feel good—it’s the least he can do.

Steve’s dick twitches and leaks steadily between them, rubbing against Billy’s stomach with every grind of Billy’s hips.

Billy gets lost in it. Has no idea how long they’ve been in this bed, how long he’s been in Steve like this. Knows he can last a long time these days. He can run the length of a marathon without breaking a sweat now. He could fuck Steve for _actual_ days. Wants to. Thinks Steve would let him if he asked sweet enough.

Steve comes again and again, makes a mess on Billy’s stomach, shoots off hard enough to reach his own chest, flutters around Billy’s cock. He’s good at making Billy feel loved. He barely recognized it for what it really is. _Love_. Feels it in his chest growing, warming up the corners of who he is now and who he used to be before it all came crashing and burning, taking him with it.

Steve cradles Billy close, holds him tight, brings him back to the softness of his hairy thighs, the quiver of his voice breaking, the scorching heat of that big heart inside him, keeping Billy from freezing over.

“You’re such a good boy.” Steve says into his ear, a hiccuping gasp as his dick manages to fill out again, a grunt on every short push and grind inside because Billy wants to stay in, in, in, constantly rubbing on Steve’s sweet spot while he tries to make room for himself. Wants to crawl inside the good that’s in Steve. Wrap himself in it. Pretend he can be that too.

Steve rambles. Talks and talks. Billy soaks in all the words, what they mean, if they mean anything, but it’s the way Steve says _my baby, my good baby boy_ that Billy grabs onto as he breaks.

He wants to be good. He wants to be someone’s. He wants his mom to have wanted him enough to keep him.

—

After, Steve lights up a cigarette and tells Billy _you didn’t have to hold back_ when he presses it to Billy’s lips. They’re lying on the bed. The lights are on. Billy’s staring up at the popcorn ceiling, lying in a wet spot, not thinking about anything, coming back to his body slowly, counting his heartbeats.

A door shuts.

That’s Billy’s cue to leave.

Steve puts a hand on his chest, right over the scar. Billy nearly snaps at him to _fuck off, don’t touch me_.

“Hold on.” Steve says. Hurries to button up half the buttons of his shirt. Grabs Billy’s jeans from the floor and pulls them on, zips them, leaves the belt dangling open. He stops before opening the door. “Don’t move, I mean it.”

He’s using _that_ tone. Billy thinks _okay, mama_ and his insides squirm, uncomfortable, overheated, oversensitive. Too much.

On the other side of the wall is talking. He hears voices. Plastic bags being crumpled. Billy wants to leave. He wants to rebuild the camaro and drive back to California so he can drive himself into the ocean.

Steve comes back inside with a bag full of takeout from the Chinese place down the street and a six-pack of beer, sets it all on the foot of the bed and stands over Billy with his hands on his hips.

“You’re gonna eat this and then we’re gonna make out and maybe I’ll let you fuck me again. Depends.” Steve’s blushing while he says it. Billy’s blushing too. “Okay?”

Billy nods. Says, “whatever.”

Steve rounds the bed. Holds Billy’s face in his hands and stares into his eyes and all Billy can think of are the nightmares where he dies and Steve dies and Max dies and El dies and it's all his fault and yells in his head, _run, dumbass. get away from me. you don’t know what you’re asking for here._

Steve softens.

“You’re good. You’re the biggest asshole I know, but, like, _you’re good_, Billy. You’re a good boy. You really are.” Steve kisses Billy on the forehead and stays there.

They eat greasy eggrolls. Steve kisses him with soy sauce on his lips and the taste of crappy beer on his tongue. They talk about who the coolest member of Kiss is. Billy hopes this is his ending. The one he never thought he could have. God, does he hope.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com)


End file.
